


Blown

by ML Mead (moonlightmead)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, S&M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/pseuds/ML%20Mead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under cover and under pressure, Benny needs to convince a gang member he's not interested in the man's wife. He calls Doyle. Doyle knows exactly what Benny needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ January 2014. None of the AO3 warnings quite fit, but see the tags and the pairings if there are things you don't like in your Pros. 
> 
> I have tagged for S&M because I think there is some element there. But if you arrived via a search on that because you're looking for checklists, negotiation and explicit consent, this probably isn't what you want.

"Good afternoon, Raymond Doyle's Refuge for Distressed Young Gentlewomen, how can I help--"

"Ray? Bodie! Stop pissing about, Bodie, put Doyle on. I need him." Anxiety crackled down the line.

"So do all those distressed young gentlewomen, mate. Hold your horses, I'm getting him now. Oh. Hang on."

A particularly disreputable Doyle had emerged into the hall, half-naked, irritation clinging to him like a black cloud. Bodie passed the receiver over. "It's Benny. Not the CI5 line." He raised his eyebrows and disappeared briefly into Doyle's living room. By the time he came out, dressed and wrapping his holster harness about himself, Doyle was concluding the conversation, striding impatiently around the room.

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay." A grimace. "Yeah, I can. We can talk about what you owe me another time. So you're where? And where will they be?" He nodded, and put out a hand to stay Bodie. Bodie telegraphed a query with his eyes. Doyle caught the gaze, shook his head, and pointed his free fist at himself. "Okay, half an hour. Outside the Radio Rentals on the corner. Okay."

He put the receiver down and looked at Bodie, resignation warring with irritation.

"Benny's in trouble. Thinks the op might be blown. Apparently Mott – that's one of the strong men – thinks Benny's taken a shine to his missus. Benny's got to persuade him otherwise or he's liable to end up outside Charing Cross casualty with his legs knotted behind his neck, and we'll be short one lead into the distribution network."

Bodie pulled a face.

"Yeah," agreed Doyle, "So I get to try and get him off the hook." He stalked into the bedroom, pulled his tshirt back on, shrugged his holster over it, and reappeared. He opened the hall cupboard, ignored the coats on hangers, and pulled a heavy biker jacket from the base of the cupboard. Arrogance settling on him with the jacket, he sauntered to the door, confident and ready for anything. He glanced at Bodie and raised an eyebrow. "Keep things warm for me, eh? See you."

Five miles later, he swung to the kerb, killed the bike motor, and looked about. The fleeing afternoon was overcast, and the shop fronts were uninviting and unvisited. Under the overhang of a door, he spotted Benny. Not bothering to dismount, Doyle jerked his head. Benny darted out towards him.

"Get on."

He gunned the engine and drove a few hundred yards further to a brightly-lit but fly-blown cafe. Benny looked worried.

"I dunno, Ray, we're on home turf here."

"Off. Tea. You're paying." Doyle brooked no argument. Once settled in the cafe, he lost no time.

"Right. What's this about?"

Benny summarised briefly, his eyes whipping across the window nervously, and his shoulders jumping with every 'ting' of the door opening. Doyle listened, and then raised a hand.

"Okay. I take it they want a quiet word?"

Benny winced and nodded.

"And you want to convince them there's no reason you'd be looking at this girl?"

"Yeah. But, Ray, I never was. They're not the sharpest knives in the drawer. How the hell do I convince them?"

Doyle looked unconcerned. "They caught up with us yet? That them hanging about the counter? With two black coffees?"

Unhappily, Benny agreed.

Doyle grinned mirthlessly. "Let's convince them, then." He rose, heading for the early evening gloom outside the café door.

 

Trotting along in Doyle's wake, Benny was the very picture of hangdog. Doyle sauntered briskly from before the café onto a quiet side road, and then unerringly into a delivery alley which culminated in a dead end. Windowless walls surrounded them, a shuttered opening the only change in features. A single light illuminated the area in front of the shutters. Doyle glanced around, caught hold of a brick used to weight down some crates, and hefted it thoughtfully. Benny blanched.

"Ray? What you up to?"

Doyle's grin was blinding as he turned to Benny.

"Ah, come on, Benny. Don't tell me you can't work it out. Bright boy like you." He whirled and threw the brick unerringly. The light shattered.

Doyle lowered his voice. "Put on a show. That's what you're going to do. Make them convinced there's no reason you'd be catting around Mrs Mottsy." His eyes glittered with amusement as he rolled the name in his mouth.

"Ray. Don't make me do this."

Doyle laughed. "Make? You'll do it anyway, mate. You will."

Moving swiftly, he pushed Benny back against the wall, both bodies close. Doyle leaned on one elbow and held Benny in place with one hand on his chest. "You'll do it."

With that, he moved his hand up Benny's chest and closed his hand around Benny's throat. As Benny opened his mouth to protest, Doyle plunged his tongue into Benny's mouth. His tongue twisted and flexed, moved around to explore cheek and tongue and teeth. Benny capitulated, limp against the wall. Doyle leaned his weight onto his hand, fingers pressing around Benny's throat in possession. Benny's arms jerked flat against the wall in a parody of acquiescence. Doyle brought his left hand down and dragged it over Benny's crotch. He pulled his lips away.

"Try to keep up." He squeezed. Benny gasped a protest.

Doyle stepped back to leave clear space between their upper bodies, his left hand still holding Benny's crotch. Casually, he swung his right hand, open, at the side of Benny's head before the ear. Benny's head jerked back and cracked against the wall. At the same time, Doyle felt Benny's trousers tighten.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he observed. He raised his voice. "So. Missed me, have you?"

Benny's face was unreadable, eyes shocked and dazed. He tried to focus.

"You can say 'no'," reminded Doyle. Lower, he whispered, "But the audience has arrived now." He felt the tautness in Benny's jeans turn into a bulge beneath his hand, and squeezed experimentally. Benny groaned. A breath of what could have been amusement ghosted from Doyle. He moved his hand, seized Benny's, and placed it where his own had been.

"Feel that? Feel yourself? That for me?"

"Yeah.." muttered Benny. "No..."

"Good boy," encouraged Doyle. "Now, you just keep yourself warm there. Go on. Keep going."

He stepped back from Benny, leaving him slumped against the wall, one hand pressed over his groin and the other supporting some of his weight against the wall.

"What a sight," encouraged Doyle. "But then," he raised his voice slightly, and began to prowl around the delivery area, Benny's escape cut off. "If you will phone in terror, telling me you've been a bit too successful in the eyeing up department, you're obviously in need of some help. A reminder. A reminder why you're not interested. Because you're not interested. Are you?" He paused. "That's your cue, Benny. You're not interested in her, are you?"

Benny shook his head, his eyes fixed pleadingly on Doyle.

Doyle continued to pace, his voice carrying – if barely – to the opening of the alley. "Because you're not interested in the women, are you, Benny? Are you? You just need to pretend. But you don't have to pretend with me, do you?" He turned, the leather of the jacket creaking with the sudden movement, watching Benny sidelong.

Abruptly he spoke. "Take your hand away."

Benny slowly moved his hand away. The bulge had thickened.

"Oh dear," chided Doyle. "Better do something about that. Go on." He watched as Benny began to run his hand up and down, slowly at first, then increasing in speed, Benny's focus on Doyle fading.

"Good," approved Doyle. He walked to the opposite wall, leant against it, and settled himself into comfort, wriggling until he was content. He undid his jeans and ran his fingers down the opened zip meaningfully, running up the cotton beneath. Impatiently, he freed himself, baring the flesh beneath, a tangle of hair covering the base and his cock springing forward. "Come on."

Mesmerised, Benny stumbled forward. There was a pause before, without prompting, he sank to his knees. He looked up, awaiting some signal, his face open. Casually, Doyle swung his fist into the side of Benny's head, his other hand waiting an inch away to catch Benny's reeling head. He didn't let go, and wound his hand into Benny's hair, using his grasp to force Benny's head into his groin.

"If I feel teeth, you'll be picking yours up from the floor," he informed the man on his knees. "Remember that."

His pupils were wide as he looked down at the lowered figure in front of him, suckling with avidity. His voice was lower. "You'll put up with a lot from me, won't you? Yeah. There's trust in that somewhere. Yeah. Trust." He paused, exhaling. "Ah. Use your hands. Yeah." Sounds of skin meeting skin and spit floated up to his ears. "Mmmm. Yeah. Trust."

He took Benny's head in his hands and pushed him gently away, forcing him to look up at him. "You want this? Still?" He waited, apparently seeking something. "Okay." Again he struck the man below him. "Yes?" And again, on the cheek and catching his nose with the heel of his hand.

Doyle frowned briefly and waited. Slowly, blood seeped from Benny's nose.

"Ah, fuck." Doyle leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Didn't mean to do that." He paused. "Don't want you to choke, do I? But we need to finish this."

With little warning, he pushed Benny's unprotesting face back onto his jutting penis. "Okay. Go for it." Rhythmically, he jerked Benny back and forth, off and onto himself, up and down, before clamping hold of him and holding him firmly to his body.

Benny's eyes were round as his throat worked jerkily, snorting noises echoing softly round the enclosed space. Doyle continued to hold him for a few seconds after Benny's arms flailed vainly up, before laughing softly and pushing him off.

Benny remained on his knees, coughing. Doyle glanced around and looked back down to him. "Happy?" His mouth curled. "Come on. Don't be shy. Am I enough for you? Or would you rather go leching after some tart?"

"Don't. Call her. A tart. Cover." The words emerged from Benny slowly. He coughed and spat experimentally onto his wrist. Dark droplets glistened.

"Ah. Yeah." Doyle ruminated. He reached a casual hand down and pulled Benny to his feet. Benny swayed. Doyle reached a hand out to his cheek.

"You'll have a bruise there tonight." He quirked his lip. "Sorry."

Barely avoiding the need to prop himself somehow, Benny essayed a bitter smile. "Really?"

"Nah." Doyle had levered himself off the wall and was doing himself up. "Not really. You think we're done here?"

Benny held his gaze. "Definitely." He turned to the street end of the alley and the light. There was the faintest of sounds retreating. Benny released a breath and nodded. "Yeah." He cast a sidelong glance at Doyle. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. What are friends for?"

A pause.

"Not that."

Doyle thought about this and shrugged acquiescence. "Whatever. Let me know next time you need a helping hand."

"Yeah." Benny wouldn't look at him. He picked his way out of the alley.

 

Doyle retrieved his bike with little difficulty, and was soon home, Bodie inevitably curious to hear what had happened.

"Well? Was Benny blown?"

Doyle laughed as he pulled off his jacket and made to bundle it into the wardrobe. "Benny? Blown? Nah. Not Benny who was blown."

Bodie ahh'd slightly, understanding clearly complete.

The jacket disposed of, Doyle straightened and moved towards Bodie. He stopped in front of him, holding Bodie's gaze insouciantly. He brought his arms up to rest his forearms on Bodie's shoulders, his hands not quite clasping behind him. Bodie smiled, a quirk of the lips with little humour evident. Doyle mirrored him, and licked his lips, anticipation unholy.

"Fancy an action replay?"


End file.
